


When the Waters Rise

by Pacifia



Series: Whumptober2020 [1]
Category: Six of Crows Series - Leigh Bardugo
Genre: Character Study, Gen, Loss, Torture, Whipped, whumptober2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:39:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27192533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pacifia/pseuds/Pacifia
Summary: When the waters rose, Kaz Brekker became Kaz Rietveld.
Relationships: Kaz Brekker & Jesper Fahey, Kaz Brekker & Jordie Rietveld
Series: Whumptober2020 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1985933
Comments: 2
Kudos: 55
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	When the Waters Rise

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Whumptober2020.  
> Theme: Today's special: Torture  
> Prompt: Whipped

When the waters rose, Kaz Brekker became Kaz Rietveld, the lonely, scared, and helpless boy who Kaz had locked up in a dark corner of his devious mind long ago. Kaz Rietveld, a boy from Lij, who'd come holding hands with his big brother to a dangerous city, in hopes to be rich, live a life of luxury. In hope that maybe fate would side with them. Brekker laughs at the fools. Fate? They thought fate would lead them. In this city of demons, you had to be the devil. And that's what Kaz had become. Dirtyhands. The Bastard of the Barrel. The boy who'd do it all. But it wasn't easy. No. The first few days after his brother's gruesome death at Reaper's Barge, Kaz Brekker had still to rise. And a scared nine-year-old Rietveld was wandering the streets with his soaked clothes and chattering teeth, hypothermic, and weakened from the firepox.

The streets of Ketterdam were deserted, even the Barrel was empty, the gangs laid low by disease. Kaz first went to where they'd taken shelter for the night, another dirty corner of the Barrel, sprawled with garbage, and the piles and piles of wooden boxes. He'd come in hope to find Jordie still sleeping there, his flesh not swollen, hard, and slimy, but warm, like his brother's. But the place was empty, only a small dog barking on the newspapers that they had lied down on. Kaz stumbled through the streets, his wet clothes dried in the warm wind blowing. Shadows would follow him. But none saw any good in mugging a nine-year-old beggar who'd surely die in a few hours.

He reached the docks.

He found the shops, all shut and bolted, locked off. But one, one was still open, a shining silver board hanging from it. Kaz ran there, banging on the glass door. He saw the shop-owner; the fat man eyed him, huffed, lit his pipe and sat down, paying him no further heed. Kaz sighed, disappointed, but he'd expected a similar reaction. Then he tilted his head, spotting a sewing machine in the window of the shop. It was engineered beautifully, bolts and hinges just in the right places, the cool, shiny surface curved skillfully. Its needle glinted sharply.

And when the light receded, clouds hovering over, Kaz spotted the name. _Brekker._ Something clicked. That name was just sitting there, staring at him, asking him to claim it. He'd be losing his identity, losing the last remaining connection he had to Jordie and Da. But he'd died, too, hadn't he? In a way, he'd died in the Reaper's Barge with his brother. Had become a monster. Only he'd reborn. He had made his way to the shore for a reason. For revenge. Because someone had to pay. Jakob Hertzoon had to pay.

He took that name. Kaz Brekker.

He liked it.

It made him sound dangerous.

* * *

The West Stave hadn't been much good to him. So he went East, crossed the Barrel, the shadows didn't follow him this time. At the East Canal, he stopped. He frowned at the Canal, dirty, gloomy, dark, and home to waste and bodies. Water. It scared him now. He wouldn't go there. He went south. Through the narrow streets of the Barrel, he travelled south, crows would caw at him. So many crows here. The streets became even gloomier and more stuffed as he went, streets packed, houses almost crooked. Shadowed corners of the streets shone with gleaming, malicious eyes that looked up at him as he passed. Some would mock him with laughs. Some throw insults. Some threats. Some would warn him. Some sympathize.

But he entered the Slat without hesitation.

Now, the Slat was a slim and tall building. Six floors. All with a hall in the middle and small rooms surrounding it. At the top, he'd heard the shadows whisper, lived Per Haskell. Just hearing the name, Kaz knew he was the one he had to impress. The ground floor was the busiest area. And probably the stinkiest. A whipping sound came from his left and he found two men striking another kneeling man with a belt, asking him questions with every strike. Kaz didn't wince. From his right, there came a hiss. Kaz blinked at the young girl who was calling him to her. He then looked ahead again. He began to walk to the stairs, to head to the top floor where he'd find Haskell. But a finger jabbed threateningly at his chest stopped him.

"Where do you think you're going, little bug?"

"I want to speak with Haskell."

The man with the golden chains wrapped around his neck smiled crookedly.

He was, expectedly, thrown out.

He didn't return until he was ready.

* * *

Three years on the streets alone. Three years to harden him. Three years for him to have his sweet revenge. Brick by brick, he'd tell himself. Brick by brick, one by one, he killed them all, saving Pekka Rollins for last. First, a year after Jordie's death, he found Fillip, the boy who'd led them into the hands of the monster. He went to him in disguise, playing the lost tourist. Fillip sold him an _ancient_ keychain for five times its original price. Kaz had smiled, paying him with the money he'd stolen from the tourist whose clothes he was wearing. Then he asked Fillip to give him a tour of the city, telling him he'd earn some extra money. Fillip had hastily nodded.

Kaz led him to the flat he'd rented near the Slat. It was only one room, hardly as big as Hertzoon's bathroom, but it was all he could afford with his petty job's earnings. Fillip had only then sensed something was off. But it was too late. Kaz knocked him out with a lamp. He tortured him for three days, sometimes with knives, sometimes with his gloved hands, sometimes with water. He never took off his gloves. He'd learned the results were highly adverse. But the leather had cut. And when he was drowning him once again, he felt the skin.

And the waters rose.

He stumbled back, leaving the boy to blow bubbles to the surface, kick as he drowned. But Kaz, too, was drowning. Corpses suddenly surrounded him, blue and fleshy, the swollen speckles on their skin. Kaz sank to his knees, covering his ears, shutting his eyes. It hurt so much, so much to go back there, to live it again. To feel Jordie's bloated body beneath him. When the water retreated, Kaz could breathe again. He bought a new pair of gloves the very next day.

* * *

Haskell wasn't anything he'd expected. Not young and muscular with a curled mustache he'd groom every day. He was old. Wrinkled. Dying. So, when the Lieutenant led him up the Slat, Kaz couldn't help the smirk. Per Haskell's eyes narrowed. Kaz knew what the old man saw. A boy of twelve. Scrawny and little. Frankly, not very useful to him. He gestured at the Lieutenant to lead him out. But Kaz already had a knife digging into his stomach. He smiled at the man, nodded at the door, and shoved him out. He clamped the door shut behind him, locking it. Haskell smiled, clearly impressed. He rested his elbows on the table, bringing his fingers together in a tangle.

"Tell me, boy, why shouldn't I shoot your brains out?"

Kaz smirked, tossing the knife in his hand. He ran his fingers on its sharp edge. The knife didn't cut the tight leather. Kaz looked at Haskell. "Because, sir, you want to hear my story."

* * *

When Kaz broke his leg, he knew he had to earn back his reputation. Earn it through blood and sweat. Now a cripple, he had to prove to Haskell he was still the same boy he'd recruited two years ago. He let it heal for a week, and was back on the job.

It was a dangerous one this time. A mercher. Haskell wanted him to steal a ridiculously expensive pin from this man's house, the house which was surrounded by the _stadwatch._ Kaz had almost laughed at the joke, but Haskell's glinting eyes told him it was not a joke. A real job. An impossible job. Kaz had nodded gravely and headed down the stairs to choose his team for this one. Pim and Anika were already chosen. But he needed a third one. He had a lockpicker, a bruiser, and a spider, now he needed a sharpshooter. That's when his eyes fell on Jesper. Zemeni born, too tall, joker, and obviously not serious about the Dregs. They'd said they found him gambling in The Crow Club non-stop, from day to night. He insisted on joining them, in need of money. Kaz would have probably gutted him but seeing the way he handled his revolvers, Kaz knew he wasn't a total waste.

Kaz adjusted his hold in his cane and shifted his weight on his good leg. "Zemeni, coming?"

Jesper flashed a toothy grin. "Definitely."

After all, he lived for the thrill.

~o~

It was all going well. The _stadwatch_ had been distracted by a false fight near the Church of Barter. While Kaz and his team had slipped in through the front gate. Not even locked. A pity. Pim had taken the two guards, Anika had climbed up to secure them a way in through the window. And Jesper and Kaz were inside, searching every inch of the room for the laurel pin. But had found nothing. Until Jesper noticed how the revolver was facing the door and not the window. Kaz had quirked his eyebrow. He explained it meant someone was in a hurry the last time they left, hence the wrong position of the gun. Kaz had rolled his eyes. But he couldn't deny the information was useful. The drawers were left open, meaning someone had recently acquired something from there. That's where the pin had been. But it was gone.

The damn mercher was wearing it.

"Saints, Kaz. We should leave. Now," Jesper had said, ready to fling himself out of the window.

But then the doorknob turned.

And in came the clueless merchant with his stumbling feet, his red cheeks, burps, and breath that smelled of horrible beer. Kaz was now holding him with a knife pressed hard onto his throat, already drawing blood. Jesper gulped. "Give me your gloves."

"I'm sorry, I think you have a death wish, Fahey."

"I could be leaving prints behind."

Kaz cursed. He was right. "Don't move, dear. Unless you want a really painful and slow death," he told the mercher who nodded, hiccupping.

"You hold him."

"But—"

"Shut up. Do as I say."

Jesper gave him a snort. "But why can't you—"

That was the day he learnt that you never asked Kaz Brekker to take his gloves off and definitely never asked him why he wore them. Because he came back to the Slat with a broken nose.

* * *

After that, he'd regained his reputation as the Lieutenant of the Dregs. He'd dome innumerable jobs. He had kidnapped, committed theft, murdered, tortured, been to prison only once and never again.

It was life. A life he liked to live. But it would never be complete with Pekka Rollins not made not rub his nose on the ground and beg Kaz. Until he'd learned the cruelty of Kaz Brekker, until he'd been made to remember, Kaz wouldn't be content. Brick by brick.

And then came the job.

 _The_ job.

Four million Kruge was not a joke. It was a ticket to heaven. To revenge. Sweet, sweet revenge. He'd bring down Rollins to his knees.

And they'd done it. They had done the impossible, the six of them. And yet, they never got their prize. They took his wraith. And took his revenge from him. But he was Dirtyhands. Not someone who quit. Ran away. He got her back. Got the four million. Made Pekka Rollins remember Jordie and beg him for his son's life.

And now, now he was supposed to be building an empire and then burning it to the ground. But instead, he was dangling by his hands in the darkest room, out of Ketterdam. Back in Lij. Why had he let sentiment get the better out of him?

"You destroyed my life, Brekker."

"I destroyed a lot of people's lives. You might want to be a little more specific," Kaz slurred out, still groggy from the drugs.

"Let me give you a hint. You blackmailed me."

"Again, I blackmailed a lot of people. You might—"

Kaz groaned when the man drew a long cut on his bare back. Kaz bit his tongue. At least it wasn't punches. Not bare hands. Flesh.

"Geels, remember him?"

"How could I forget? He and I had a nice run back in the day. His wife really was beautiful. Pity he didn't know she was a mercher's mistress." Kaz hissed when the cuts burned.

"He bribed two guards."

Kaz was intrigued. "Holst?"

"You remember! Oh, what a shock. The _stadwatch_ threw me out. My wife left me. The Black Tips tortured me for days before throwing me here. In the countryside. And three years later, I find you here. Ghezen wants me to have a fair trade."

"If it's a trade you want, you can have money. I'm sure there's no need for these knives," Kaz said, glancing at the sharp tools on the table. "Besides, my Dregs are already looking for me. It won't take them long to spot this warehouse."

"Shut up!" Holst barked. "We're going to have fun, Brekker." Kaz stiffened, seeing Holst admire the thick whip he was holding. "A lot of fun."

~o~

_The breeze was warm, the smell of Da's farm. He was back. Kaz ran through the fields, jumping, dancing, hands brushing past the grown crops. But then he stopped. Because there they were. Smiling at him. Hands extended towards him, inviting him for a hug. Kaz began running towards them, but it was already fading. No! It hadn't been long enough! He couldn't even touch them! Not yet!_ _Not yet!_

"Kaz!"

Kaz fluttered his eyes open, resisting the urge to scream in pain. He blinked. "Jordie?"

"No, Kaz, it's me. Jesper."

"Jes." It all came back to him like a flood of memories. The tortured screams. The menacing laughs. The mocks and jeers. Suddenly, the pain was too great. He twisted. But Jesper held him in his place. He breathed out, trying to relax. But it hurt too much. "G…got him?"

"Anika drowned him."

"Good," Kaz managed, eyes drooping. "You?" _What are you doing here?_ Kaz wanted to ask. But Jesper seemed to understand.

"Me and Wylan. We both came when we heard you'd been kidnapped. Couldn't miss that," Jesper said, smirking.

Kaz groaned. "Son of a bitch."

"Cursing helps, doesn't it? Come on," Jes said, lifting him up.

Kaz gave a threatening growl. "I'm going to strangle you to death when we get home, Fahey." He groaned again. "Shit, Jes, I…"

"Kaz?" Jesper asked him when he let his eyes droop close. He patted his cheek. "Kaz!"

_Warm._

Cold.

_Sunlight._

Dark.

_Pleasure._

Pain.

He kept drifting in and out. He was there and then he wasn't. Da and Jordie would wave at him one second and then Jesper would be screaming for a medic. He just wanted to go.

"Wylan! Quick! We're losing him!"

" _Won't you play, Kaz?"_

"Saints, Kaz. Hold on! Please!"

" _Won't you come to us?"_

"Kaz!"

" _Kaz!"_

He didn't know who to listen to. He wanted to go. He wanted to go! Maybe it was time. Maybe it was time he paid. Maybe his shadow was finally bigger than him.

"Blood! He needs blood!"

" _You need love, Kaz."_

Kaz smiled at the fading figures of his brother and father. His fingers brushed past Jordie's once, he could read his eyes even now. And then Kaz let go. He let them go. For now. He wasn't done with the world yet.

He had yet to burn it.


End file.
